


hōʻike

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s01e16 E Malama (To Protect), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To bear witness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hōʻike

**Author's Note:**

> Episode Coda for 1.16.

They stayed long enough to watch Aaron Brenner start to crumble, fidgeting in his seat and scrawling panicky notes to his counsel on a yellow legal pad. Chin Ho leaned against the back wall of the court room and watched the proceedings with a sense of bone-deep satisfaction—Julie sitting straight-backed in the witness stand; Brenner's counsel rising and declaring that his client would be willing to change his plea in return for the state waiving the death penalty; the judge dismissing the motion and allowing the trial to proceed. Chin was aware that his hair was lank and sweat-damp, that underneath his bulletproof vest, his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin, but the ache in his back seemed less important than bearing witness to the truth being spoken.

When the lawyers started to get into the verbose nit picking, Kono touched him gently on the shoulder, nodded in the direction of the hallway. The air was no cooler out here than it had been in the courtroom, but Chin found himself taking a couple of deep breaths regardless, grateful for the cross breeze and the relative quiet.

"You okay?" Kono asked. She had a couple of dark defensive bruises coming up on her forearms, and was still visibly crackling with adrenaline. Chin felt old just looking at her—felt a weariness that couldn't quite be subdued by his sense of pride in a job well done.

"I'm fine," he said, tugging off his vest. "Nothing a handful of ibuprofen and a good night's sleep won't cure."

Kono raised her eyebrows at him, an expression that made her look eerily like their grandmother—fond, affectionate, completely unwilling to put up with any nonsense. "See, that would maybe work on the boss, but it probably wouldn't on Danny and it _definitely_ doesn't with me. You want to talk about it?"

Chin made himself smile at her. "Honestly, I'm just wiped, cuz. You try riding a dirt bike at high speed through a forest with armed assassins chasing you. Takes it out of you. I just need to go home, shower, and crash."

"If you say so," Kono said, her tone making it clear that she was more than a little dubious, but wasn't going to push him just now. "You need a ride?"

He shook his head. The Federal Courthouse was only a couple of blocks from Five-Oh headquarters, after all. "No, I'll walk back, pick up my bike. But thanks."

"Okay," Kono said. "You need me, you call, okay? I'm heading up to the North Shore with Ben tonight, but I'll have my phone with me."

Chin nodded at her and then headed out of the building. The truck they'd driven here in was still parked out front, though it looked less 'parked' and more 'collapsed' right now. Two of the wheels were steadily deflating, and even while Chin looked at it, one of the side mirrors fell off to land with a clatter on the asphalt. He was pretty sure that the only reason the truck had made it here was because he'd been driving it, not Steve—he might not have respected the speed limit any more than Steve would have, but at least he hadn’t tried to treat it like an all terrain vehicle.

The walk back to headquarters was short, but it helped clear his head somewhat. Chin shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, tucked his bulletproof vest under one arm, and concentrated on keeping his strides easy and even. The sounds of the city ebbed and flowed around him—traffic and snatches of conversation, cell phones ringing and distant laughter—beat by beat gradually pulling him back from the forest’s quiet. He was aware that this case had unsettled him more than usual; knew that his hands were trembling from something more than adrenaline’s aftermath. But for all that he could catalogue his reactions, be aware that something was wrong, he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

He thought of Julie: following him doggedly through the forest on bleeding, aching feet; hugging him in the courthouse, smelling of salty sweat, her voice low and sincere when she said _thank you_. He’d been vaguely astonished at how strong her grip had been, how vital. It had humbled him a little; and so Chin paused at the door leading into the Five-Oh, unable to make himself pass through it. The key for his bike was in the top drawer of his desk, but he couldn’t make himself go in.

Instead, he sat on one of the low balustrades that flanked the doorway. Half hidden by flourishing greenery, Chin could watch the flow of people in and out of the building, Kamehameha beckoning in bronze and gold, the clouds scudding through the sky overhead. Sorting through the impressions and ideas of an over-full day was not an easy task, made more complex by his exhaustion and by the growing sense that what was bothering him was not the effort it had taken him to help Julie testify that day—it was the fact that he’d been there at all. Only a few months ago, Chin had been working security for a bunch of concession stands; he’d jumped at the chance Steve had offered him to get back to a job he loved, that he knew he was good at, but he somehow hadn’t realised that he wasn’t going back to that job at all.

It wasn’t just the fact that any job which involved his little cousin and Steve McGarrett was bound to be different to anything Chin had known in the HPD. It was the fact that he himself had changed in the time he’d had one badge taken from him and another one bestowed—gone was his pride in himself as one in a long line of Kellys and Kalakauas in the force; gone were his expectations of assurance, certainty, gratitude. That Julie had looked at him as if she’d expected nothing less than honorable action, that she’d offered him nothing less than her heartfelt thanks—that shook something free that had been lodged painful and tight in his chest. Chin realised that the allegations made against him had had more consequences than he’d thought—had made him hold himself apart in ways that had hurt him and those around him in so many ways.

He looked down at his hands, still flecked with black oil and the greenish-grey mud of the forests, a sharp scrape across one knuckle. He thought of Julie, sitting straight-backed in the stand and speaking in a voice that didn’t tremble, in part because he’d told her _no more running_ , and thought that maybe today was not the day to begin the habit of making a hypocrite of himself. Chin dug his phone out of his pocket and stared at it for a long moment before he brought up his contacts list.

“No more running,” he told himself. It was time to find a still point in the world, and he closed his eyes and said, “Hi, Malia. It’s me.”


End file.
